


Book 1: I'm Wishing, Wishing Further

by Larnise



Series: Set In Stone [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Female Ori, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, panromantic character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larnise/pseuds/Larnise
Summary: Born a Rohirrim and raised a Ranger, Eawine Hawksbite has memories that can make or break her world. She joins the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, hoping to ensure a better outcome to the quest. Hoping to ensure the Line of Durin does not end. Hoping to ensure one of them is on the throne of Erebor when the War only she knows is coming arrives.But for every beat of a butterfly's wings, a tsunami is formed.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien), Fíli/Ori (Tolkien), Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Series: Set In Stone [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560802
Comments: 17
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

“Little one... it's time...” the voice fades out. I spin around wildly, trying to find the source, but all there is is endless darkness. I try to look down at myself, but there's nothing there. I don't exist. Do I exist?

I try to scream, but I don't know if it works. I don't hear anything, I don't feel anything, I don't see anything, there's just – Nothing.

“Little one... be calm...”

“Who are you?” I try to shout, but there's still just Nothing.

“You were born in the wrong reality... oh, my little one... we must find your true home... go, now... try this one...” the voice fades away for good as the Nothing is replaced with Something.

Light, blindingly bright after the darkness of the Nothing, and a wailing sound. It takes a moment to realize the wailing is me.

~~~

I'm two years old, now. Or am I nineteen? My body is two, that's the point I'm trying to make, even if my mind is a bit older.

It took quite a while to figure out what had happened. I... well, I died, didn't I? And then I was born again. Even as a toddler, though, I can tell that wherever I was born, it's nothing like my life before.

In any case, right now I'm sitting in some kind of tent. I think it's made of some sort of hide? This society is weird. There doesn't seem to be any sort of modern commodity. No electronic devices, no plumbing, nothing like that. Or maybe I just live with the Amish or something, who knows?

I'm alone, just sitting on the floor, staring at the tent flap, waiting for Mom to come back for me. That's weird, too, getting used to new parents who aren't anything like my old ones.

There's a soft, furry rug that I'm trying to pretend isn't made of actual fur. I'm failing at that. It is soft, though, like really, _really_ soft. Nice for my tiny little toddler tush.

The tent flap opens and I grin, but that grin disappears real quick. Not Mom. Not Dad. Not even anyone I recognize at all. The man scoffs at the sight of me.

“Damn robbers, leaving a kid all alone like this,” he sneers.

“What? A kid?” a woman's voice asks from out of sight. The tent flap opens wider, and I catch sight of Mom and Dad tied up by the campfire. There's a bunch of other people, too. Some of them are the other nomads, tied up with them. The others, though... the others are wearing green cloaks, and they have all sorts of swords and bows, and fancy little brooches holding the cloaks closed.

“Leave 'er alone!” Dad shouts, and he looks angry.

“What, like you did?” the woman's voice scoffs, and I see her, now. She's one of the cloaked people. She's walking over towards me.  
“It's not our fault that stupid girl left 'er with us!” Mom shouts. I blink at her. What...?

“Excuse me?” the man holding the tent open asks, eyes wide and eyebrows raised.

“You heard me! Ugly bint just had to go and give birth and die while we was robbing her, dint she?” Mom snaps back – no, wait. Not my mom?

“Shut up!” Dad (?) hisses, turning to her and leaning forward as far as he can.

“No! I will not bloody well shut up! I'm sick of 'aving to take care of some other whore's kid just cos you wouldn't leave it be,” Not-Mom sneers, “Go on then, you goody two shoes rangers. You take 'er, if you're so worried 'bout 'er.”

“Oh, good sirs, it's not what it sounds like. We didn't kidnap 'er or anyfin – we just - adopted 'er, yeah, that's right! We adopted 'er. Even let 'er keep the name 'er mum gave her. Eawine, the little tyke,” Not-Dad stammers, and even from here, I can see that he's sweating.

Huh. This is an interesting turn of events. I wonder how I never noticed? I mean, it sounds like all this happened right when I was born, and I was pretty disoriented there for a while, so I guess I can excuse myself for not realizing at the time. But – the cloaked man said these people are robbers? How did I not notice _that_?

While I was brooding over these revelations, the woman entered the tent and is now swooping me up into her arms.

“Eawine, huh? Sounds Rohirrim,” the man comments as she steps back out with me.

“She looks Rohirrim, too. What do you think, Declan? What should we do with her?” the woman asks him, but the way she does it... is she testing him? I look at him again, and – yeah, he's younger than the other cloaked people. Maybe he's a trainee of some sort?

Declan seems to think about it for a moment, weighing options in his head.

“We should try and see if she has any living family that can take her in. If we can't find any...” he trails off, clearly unsure.

“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. You folks, where did you meet her mother and how long ago?” the woman holding me asks.

“Two years ago, on the road nor'west o' Helm's Deep, but we couldn't tell which way she were goin',” Not-Dad tells her. She hums in response, and I can tell she's planning.

“We're right in the middle here, aren't we?” she comments. Another cloaked man nods.

“There's no easy way to do this,” he confirms. The woman holding me nods firmly, plan in place.

“Alright. Declan, you're with me to head to Helm's Deep and see if we can find this one's family. Roald, Saerun, you two take the prisoners to Minas Tirith, and wait for us in the inn there. You know the one,” she orders.

“Yes ma'am,” the second man, presumably Roald, responds. He motions to the other woman, Saerun, and they start gathering up Not-Mom and Not-Dad's belongings, along with the rest of the camp's. I make grabby hands at the small rucksack that I know holds all of my stuff when Saerun walks by with it.

“Is this yours, then, little one?” she asks, grinning.

“Yep! It's mine!” I nod enthusiastically. She blinks, grin fading into a thoughtful frown. Shit, am I acting too old again? I keep doing that. It's not like I remember how I acted as a two-year-old in my other life! And I was never around little kids when I got older. The twins were close enough to me in age that I don't really remember them that young, either.

After a moment, Saerun seems to shake herself out of it, and hands the sack to the woman holding me. I grab it away from the woman and clutch it close to my chest. As the four cloaked people laugh at my antics, I ponder what I've just heard. Not about Not-Mom and Not-Dad, I've pretty much gotten over that, but the place names.

I could swear they sound so familiar, but I just can't think of where I've heard them! And the word they called me – Rohirrim. That feels even more familiar, as though I _should_ know exactly what that means, but it keeps slipping away from me.

The sun is just starting to rise when the two groups part ways. I learn that the woman who picked me up last night is named Myrna as everyone says their goodbyes. Declan puts me in the saddle in front of him, and the three of us ride off down the road.

~~~

We reach Helm's Deep three days later. Three days of riding and camping, and occasionally hunting. Three days of Declan and Myrna giving me odd looks. I don't think I'll ever get the hang of actually acting my “age,” and honestly? At this point, I've pretty much given up trying.

I keep making grabs for Declan's bow, he keeps snatching it away at the last second, Myrna keeps yelling at him for leaving it where I _could_ get to it, I keep pouting every time I'm thwarted. It's a pattern we've fallen into, and by the time we reach Helm's Deep, I can tell it's a pattern that has exhausted both of them. That only makes me feel a little bad.

Let me shoot something, damn you! I mean, yeah, I probably wouldn't be able to draw the bowstring, not with toddler muscles and a height that's smaller than the thing's length. Okay, fine, so _maybe_ letting me try isn't a good idea. Still, though.

By the time we're approaching the city gates, Declan looks like he's about to fall asleep right there on his horse, and Myrna has so much coffee in her it's a wonder she hasn't had a heart attack.

A city guard (at least, that's what I assume he is) steps out of a tiny building set just to the side of the gates and waves us down. Myrna rides over to him, and Declan blearily follows with me.

“Ho, there. City's locked down at the moment – couple criminals escaped the jail and I'm not to open the gates 'til I'm told they've been caught. Sorry 'bout that,” the guard says. Myrna shakes her head, smiling.

“It's fine, we can wait a while, I think. Maybe you can help us, though. How long have you been a guard here at the gates?” she asks. The man shrugs.

“Six years or so? Seven, maybe?” He shrugs again. Myrna gestures to Declan, who steers his horse right up next to her in response.

“Then, maybe you saw this little one's mother at some point?” she asks the guard. She then proceeds to tell him everything Not-Mom and Not-Dad told her. The man hums in thought as he looks at me.

“I think I do remember the girl you speak of. Only... she seemed like she was running from something when she left here. She was scared, and... well, she begged me not to tell anyone from the city that she'd passed through the gates. Whatever the poor girl was running from, I don't think she'd appreciate her daughter being delivered to it,” he finally explains. Declan slumps a bit at that news, while Myrna frowns.

“Did she say anything about where she was going?” she presses. The guard shakes his head.

“No, I'm sorry. I'd help you with that if I could, but I never would have even known which direction she went if you hadn't come along,” he says. Myrna nods and thanks the man, then she leads us away, back down the road.

“So, what now?” Declan asks her. Before she can say anything, I speak up.

“I want to stay with you.” They exchange a look, then Declan looks down at me.

“Our life is not the life for one as young as you,” he says gently. I scowl at him, crossing my arms over chest. Which, okay, I have the body of a two-year-old, so it's probably far less intimidating than I would want, but minor detail.

“I'm not young. Not _that_ young, anyways. I'm nineteen,” I snap. He blinks, then turns to Myrna, who looks equally confused.

“Little one, that's not how -” she starts, but I interrupt her.

“I was seventeen, but I died and was reborn, and it's been two years since then. So now I'm nineteen.” I glare at her, daring her to contradict me. She opens her mouth, then closes it again.

~~~

In the end, they take me to Minas Tirith, where I tell all four Rangers about my past life. Well, an edited version of it. I have no idea how to even start on some things, like the live streamed video game playing that made me famous. Instead, I focus on other things – the twins, our parents, my friends. And the earthquake that killed me.

They decide to let me stay with them, and train to be a Ranger myself when I'm physically old enough. And just like that, I have a set place in this new life.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come on, kid, you can do better than that!” Saerun shouts, laughing. I glare at her and go through the course again, letting my frustration fuel more power into my strikes.

Two steps forward, quick, and a slash across one training dummy's midsection. The blunted sword goes right through, cutting it in half. I stamp my shock down and keep going. Three steps, a thrust at this one's wooden sword. It splinters, and I follow through with a swipe at the neck. The training dummy is beheaded. My momentum carries me forward into a run, four long steps, and I drop, sliding down past the next dummy and slashing upward through the thigh.

Its leg is gone, and I leave it to “bleed out” as I continue forward, foot kicking off the ground to carry me back upright again. I lunge, thrusting hard into the next dummy's chest, then wrenching my training sword sideways and clear of the falling “corpse”. One dummy left. I leap forward, up and over the dummy's head, letting my sword slash through it below me. The two vertical halves fall to the ground in a flurry of scattered hay as I land on my feet on the other side.

I turn and look back down the course, blinking. Saerun is clearly just as bewildered, and Declan has sat down on the ground and is just staring dumbly at me. I stare dumbly back, and the next few moments are silent as we're all confused together.

“Um... Myrna?” Declan finally shouts, his voice strained. She comes running at the sound, sliding to an abrupt halt when she sees what I've done. Her shoulders drop and she shoots a deadpan look at Declan.

“Okay, which of you decided to do a demonstration for her with an actual sword?” she asks. Saerun chokes on thin air.

“Nope. No, uh, Eawine did this. With the blunted sword.” Myrna blinks.

“Are you really going to try and tell me the _nine-year-old_ did this?” she demands. I break out of my stupor and frown.

“Twenty-six-year-old,” I protest. She frowns right back at me.

“In a nine-year-old body,” she points out. Which, okay, that's fair.

“Is this really the strangest thing about her?” Saerun interrupts, stepping forward, as if to get between me and Myrna.

“Yeah, I mean, isn't the whole reincarnation thing stranger?” Declan adds, standing up and looking ready to pull us apart. Shit, do we really look that much like we're about to fight? Myrna must notice it, too, because she shifts her weight away from me a bit and smooths her face out. I do the same.

“That's true, I suppose. We're just used to that about her, whereas this... whatever it is, is new,” Myrna agrees. I nod.

“In any case,” Roald calls out as he approaches, his dry tone betraying his amusement with us all, “I've secured us rooms for the night. One each for me, Myrna, and Declan. Saerun, Eawine, you two are sharing. As a side-note, Gandalf the Grey is in town, too. We might see if he happens to know anything about our little foundling.”

Yeah, that had been a shock to me, when I first figured it out. Apparently, I was reborn in Middle Earth. Back when the Ranger squad first found me, I'd thought some of the words they were using were familiar, but I'd only watched _Lord of the Rings_ once, and I'd never read the books. Rohan and Gondor just weren't as prevalent in _The Hobbit_ , which I was more familiar with, as they were in _Lord._

I haven't told the Rangers about any of that, though. How can I? It's on par with the whole video games thing. _Yeah, Sauron's gonna be coming back at some point, a bunch of hobbits are gonna save the day, everyone else is pretty much just a distraction. No biggie._ No, thank you. Although, I have figured out I'm in pre- _Hobbit_ times. Laketown still exists.

Not sure how far before Bilbo's adventure, I never was good with timelines set in fictionalized calendar systems. I've thought about going to the Shire, seeing if I could find the good Mr. Baggins and get an idea of his age now versus his age when he goes running off after the Company, but the Rangers are needed elsewhere. It'll just have to wait until I'm old enough to strike out on my own.

Meeting Gandalf, though. That might give me an idea, in and of itself. And Roald's not wrong, he may know something.

We all follow Myrna's second-in-command away from the stable yard and down the street to the Windy Vale Inn and Pub. It's the biggest inn here in the Sixth Circle of Minas Tirith, and since the Sixth is where all the stables are, it's where we stay when we're in town. Myrna flags down a courier while the rest of us go inside and settle in a corner where we can see the whole room.

Declan sends her a questioning look when she joins us, so she explains.

“Sent a message to Gandalf, asking him to meet us here.” We all nod and she goes to the bar counter to order dinner for us.

We've almost finished eating by the time the wizard appears. He scans the room, and upon seeing the four Rangers and their kid, he approaches us.

“Excuse me, would one of you folks happen to be Captain Livall?” he asks. Myrna raises her hand, smiling at him.

“That's me. Have a seat, let me introduce you,” she tells him. He smiles and sits, the only one at the table with his back to the room instead of a wall. “This is Lieutenant Commander Roald Dager, Lieutenant Saerun Ranith, Cadet Declan Westleren, and our foundling child, Cadet Eawine.” As she says each of our names, Roald pauses the bouncing of his leg only long enough to nod, Saerun gives a sassy salute, Declan waves shyly, and I just grin. Gandalf hums as he looks at me.

“I see. And you're the one the captain requested my help with?” he asks. I nod.

“Yep. I'm the problem child,” I sass. Saerun snorts, even as Declan shakes his head at me. Gandalf simply narrows his eyes a bit, pulling his pipe from his robes and lighting it. He doesn't respond until he's blown the smoke into the shape of a hawk, which swoops down as if diving for a mouse before dissipating above the table in front of me.

“You're not a child though, are you? Not quite.” I perk up hopefully. “I am sorry to say, my girl, that I can't tell exactly where you've been or where you're going, but I can see a few things about you. Your little adventure at the stable was the result of a gift, although who gave it to you, I certainly have no idea.” I droop a bit.

“Can you at least tell why she has such a gift?” Declan asks, frowning and reaching out to rub my shoulder.

“No, I'm afraid not. I am sorry I can't be of more help, my dear,” Gandalf tells me. I stare into a space for a moment, thinking. Should I...? You know what, fuck it. I'm going to do it.

“That's alright. Just – promise me somethin'.” I look him in the eyes, making sure he's looking back. “When you're formin' a Company o' thirteen dwarves and a hobbit, add me. I don't care what strings ya have to pull to get that gnarled oak t'agree, you get me on that journey. Y'hear me? Y'all are gonna need someone else with some common sense, Gods know you won't always be there to think for 'em.” He blinks at me.

“I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about,” he says. I shrug.

“When the time comes, ya _will_ know. Just remember this when it does, got it?” I press. He nods.

“I understand.”

~~~

With Gandalf's promise secured, I spend the next several years training hard and honing my skills, newfound super-strength included. I'm named a full-blown Ranger when I'm sixteen (or thirty-three, depending on how you count.) The youngest ever, according to official records, at least. From there, I set out on my own, shiny official brooch clasped to my own cloak.

I spend most of my focus on the Misty Mountains, knowing that that's where the journey really goes wrong. I need to know every inch of that pass, inside and out. If we can possibly avoid falling into Goblin Town, and therefore prevent a message being sent to Azog, then maybe the Battle of Five Armies won't happen. Of course, then I'll need to find something other than a common foe to unite the three non-evil armies, but I can cross that bridge when I get to it.

And if, in the process of learning my way around here, I stumble upon Gollum? I might just be able to stop the War of the Ring before it ever starts. I just have to never put the damn thing on, ever. Probably even prevent it from touching my bare skin, just have it always wrapped up or something.

~~~

“You know, Eawine, you are very hard to track down.” I grin down at him from the boulder I'm perched on.

“Hey, Declan. Hey, Saerun. What are you two doing up here?” I ask.

“What, we can't just come to visit our famous little sister?” she sasses. I raise an eyebrow.

“Famous?” I scoff, “As if.” I leap down and land lightly next to them, gesturing for them to follow me to my base camp.

“No, seriously. You're gaining a reputation, kid,” Declan insists as we walk, “You've even earned a Battle Name. That's really why we're here, we were picked to give you the good news.” I pause and turn to look at them, eyes wide.

“Really?” I ask, incredulous. Did I do something stunning enough to earn my own version of the legendary Oakenshield? “I don't recall anything that could have earned me that.” I think back. Yeah, no, just normal, every-day stuff.

“Are you kidding? Every trader who goes through this pass talks about you. Dealing death from above to the goblins every time they emerge from their caves?” Saerun laughs, grinning at me.

“Yeah, you earned it,” Declan emphasizes. He comes to a complete stop and mimes lifting a sword across my shoulders, like he's knighting me. “You have been hereby dubbed Eawine Hawksbite, sky borne Protector of the Mountains.”

“Council even commissioned a sword for you,” Saerun comments. She hands over a sheathed sword, which I take and draw partway out. Dwarf forged, with the image of a hawk carved into the pommel. Its wings are spread, forming a cross guard, and its talons are splayed out as though it's about to grab a mouse. The sharp edges of the talons sit against the blade in a way I know can be used to break a lesser blade caught on them.

It's beautiful.

Declan and Saerun must be able to see my awe on my face, because they both burst out laughing.

“Come on, kid,” she teases, “Did you really think all of this would go unrecognized? You have single handedly guarded this pass for the last, what, five years?”

“Sounds about right,” Declan confirms. I shake, sheathing the sword and continuing on to my camp.

“I mean, that's not why I've been here. I just – I needed to learn the land here, you know?” I comment. Silence meets my statement, and I can only assume they're exchanging The Look. The one they always exchange when I say or do something that reminds them that I'm more than I seem to be.

I ignore it, because we've reached my camp. I found it when I first arrived here – it's a ledge with shallow cave. The cave is naturally hidden, and even I almost missed it the first time around. There's a boulder set in front of it that a tree long ago fell on top of. The tree has vines that hang down on top of and around the boulder. The cave behind it all can only be reached by ducking under the tree and skirting around the back of the rock.

I gesture at my siblings in all but blood to follow me down and in, which they do with only a little hesitation. Once we're in, I walk over to the bedroom. There's not really separated rooms, per se, but I've set all of my belongings in clusters that suggest it. The “bedroom” is really just a bedroll set on an elevated ledge, with one of my three trunks set next to it.

I take my cloak off and set it on my bed, then sit on the floor and open the trunk. I take off my belt and remove my old sword from it, setting the trusty blade in the trunk and replacing it with my new sword. I close the trunk and stand, putting my belt and cloak back on.

Then, I turn to face my siblings. They're looking around, surprised at my set up. I grin.

“It took me a while to get everything the way it is. Here, I'm going to make dinner. I've got some vegetables I can throw into a stew,” I tell them, and head to the “kitchen.” One of my trunks is here, holding my food and water supplies in jars, as well as other supplies. My fire pit, too, with a tripod for whatever pot or pan I'm using at any given time, and surrounded by leather stretched between branches from trees lower down the pass, closer to Rivendell.

There's also a few ledges with the types of supplies I can leave out and about, and I grab a handful of the dried moss I use as kindling off of one, starting a fire in the pit.

“How...?” Saerun trails off, but she's looking at the beginnings of the smoke, so I know what she's going to ask.

“Look up at the ceiling. There's a hole right above the fire pit, see it?” I ask, but I don't take my eyes off the kindling. I need to pay attention so I know when to add wood.

“Yeah,” Declan says, “I see it.”

“It's a little tunnel, no idea how it happened. But my leather panels here funnel the smoke into it, and it doesn't let the smoke out until about eight miles north of here. Pretty damn handy.” I add the wood to the growing fire. “Go ahead and look around, make yourselves at home. It'll be a while before this is ready,” I tell them.

I spend the next hour cooking, and they spend that hour sparring. Because of course they do. I do call a time out after I pour the water into the pot, asking Declan to go out to the stream just downhill of the camp to refill the jar. When he comes back, I have him pour it into another pot I have. Saerun recognizes the second pot, so she takes over that part, letting the water sit in the bottom of the incredibly deep pot, with a specialized piece of cloth draped halfway down, just above the top of the water, round edges hooked on the outside of the pot. The lid gets put on and she sets it within reach of me, so I can set it on the fire when the stew is done. Then she and Declan go back to sparring.

By the time I call out that dinner is ready, removing the stew pot and setting it on the floor along with bowls and spoons from the kitchen trunk, they're both glaring at each other for the hits each of them got in. I shake my head, snorting, and put the other pot on the tripod.

As we eat, we chat. General small talk, just catching up with each other. We haven't seen each other since I graduated and came out here, so it's nice to just have this time for each other.


	3. Chapter 3

After we've eaten, Saerun and Declan move over to my “study” while I deal with the second pot of water, which I'd taken off the fire when it had boiled for a while. All the condensation should have run down and gotten caught in the cloth by now, so I open it and pull the empty jar closer. I pour the purified water in, close the jar tightly, and set it back in the trunk, then stack the pots, bowls, and spoons to take down to the stream and wash tomorrow.

I then join my siblings in the study, opening the third and final trunk to pull out my most recent sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. I close the trunk, sitting on top of it, and flip to a half-done drawing of the twins from Before. It's a memory I have of them after playing paintball. I can't capture all the colors, not with charcoal, but I can get their expressions and the way they favored the bruised limbs that had been hit. The torn sleeve where Trevor tripped and his paintball gun got caught in the seam. The way Kate's pants were stiff from the mud in the field they'd played in. I start adding some shading to the background, leaving it vague but still indicating where the lighting was coming from.

“Is that Kate and Trevor?” Declan asks. I smile, but I don't look up.

“Yeah. I've been kind of obsessively drawing in my spare time. I just... I need to preserve it, somehow. I need to remember them,” I explain. He hums in response.

“Hey, you remember what you told us, once? About songs from Before that you couldn't sing in front of anyone not in the know?” Saerun suddenly asks. It startles a laugh out of me, and I do look up at her, grinning.

“Yeah, I remember,” I drawl. She grins back, and Declan groans and lays down on his stomach, folding his arms and resting his forehead on them.

“Well, sing away!” she laughs. I snort.

“Alright, fine, give me a second to think of a good one.” I close the sketchbook and set it down next to me, laying the charcoal on top. Hmm, what to sing? Oh! “Hang, on,” I say, and run over to the kitchen. I pull three cups out of the trunk and go back, sitting crisscross on the floor, forming a triangle with the other two. I put my cup down in front of me and hand one to Saerun.

“What's this for?” she asks as I nudge Declan's head with the other. He looks at me blankly, but I physically pull him upright and set the cup down in front of him.

“Okay, so, the song I want to sing has a beat that you can play with these. Here, let me show you.” As I demonstrate, Saerun starts copying me, then Declan, until we're synced up and they've both got it. Then, I start singing.

_I've got my ticket for the long way 'round,_

_Two bottle o' whiskey for the way._

_And I sure would like some sweet company,_

_And I'm leavin' tomorrow,_

_Whaddaya say?_

I continue through the whole song, letting my Bostonian and Southern Drawl accents emerge in the way that fits the song so well. As I finish it, I slam my cup with finality, and the other two do the same. Both of them are grinning, and Saerun starts clapping as I bow playfully. It's as I'm sitting back up that I notice how dark it's gotten.

“Hey, we should probably bed down for the night,” I say. They glance out through the vines and see the same thing I did.

“Yeah, you're right. Any particular place you want our bedrolls?” Declan asks.

“Nah, just wherever you want. I'm gonna put these away and smother the fire. Night, guys,” I say. They both respond in kind, and we all settle down for the night.

They leave the next morning, and I wave goodbye as they vanish from sight down the pass on the eastern side.

~~~

I've been Hawksbite for four years when a butterfly lands on my shoulder and whispers in a wizard's voice.

“Make your way to Bree, dear foundling. It's time for me to keep my promise.” After delivering the message, it flaps away. I grin and head back to my cave to gather my belongings. I leave the leather panels and stone ring around the fire pit, and all the little miscellaneous supplies on their ledges. I'll be back, and needing them, soon enough.

My bedroll gets packed away into my bedroom trunk, then all three trunks are stacked on the hand drawn cart I used to get them up here. I take one last look around my home of the last several years, and set off down the path.

The next two weeks are spent making my way west. I make a stop in Rivendell to replace the cart and trunks with a pair of horses, one war horse and one pack horse. The pack horse is a chestnut mare I decide to name Forestsong. The war horse is a dappled gray mare I name Moondance. Forestsong has a lead that can be quickly attached to and detached from Moondance's saddle. I offload the three trunks into saddlebags and continue onward.

By the time I ride into Bree, I'm really wondering how long the journey will take the other way, because it feels like I went the distance between Rivendell and Bree much quicker than Thorin's Company did in the book and the first movie. Of course, I wasn't waylaid by trolls or orcs, but at the same time, I feel like those adventures should make the Company move quicker. I mean, they pretty much sprint across that field, don't they? And the trolls only delay them as much as making camp for the night would have anyways. Eh, I'll figure it out.

Gandalf is waiting for me in the Prancing Pony when I arrive, leaving my horses in the stable and hefting the saddlebags over my shoulder. I drop them next the table he's at and sit.

“Hello, wizard,” I say, smiling. He smiles back.

“Hello, Hawksbite,” he responds, and I snort as the barkeeper sets a mug of ale down on the table for me. I turn and nod in thanks, then look back to Gandalf.

“You know, it's partly your fault that's my name,” I comment, taking a gulp of the ale.

“Oh? Is it?” he asks. Playing the innocent old man.

“Yep.” I pop the end of the word. “Apparently, your little trick with the smoke when we first met made quite the impression on Captain Livall. So when the topic of giving me a Battle Name for my 'death from above' tactics came up in the Rangers' Council, she suggested Hawksbite. But you wouldn't know anything about hawks, would you?” I smirk at him. He just keeps his innocent old man act up, but his next words belie that a bit.

“Well, only as much as I know about the sky.” I snort again and drink more of my ale, leaning back in my chair and resting my forearms on the table.

“So, how did you get our dear gnarled oak to agree?” I ask. He smiles at the nickname, but then he grimaces, and an oddly long silence ensues. “He hasn't agreed, has he.” My voice is completely flat.

“Unfortunately, I have not had a chance to broach the topic with him, as of yet. There is a meeting set for later tonight, and I was hoping you would make it in time,” he explains. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, alright, I'll 'elp ya convince 'im. Whole thing o' me goin' along _was_ my idea. But ya owe me one for that, y'hear? It was _s'posed_ to be _your_ job,” I scold. He nods.

“Of course, my dear, of course.” I shake my head at him.

“Well, if I'm going to be negotiating, I may as well eat first.”

“Yes, matters such as that are always best done on a full stomach.”

It's about an hour later that Thorin arrives. He seems suspicious of my presence at Gandalf's table, which does not bode well. Yeah, I exist! Super suspicious! Great start, everyone.

“Gandalf. I was told this would be a meeting _about_ the fourteenth party member, not _with_ the fourteenth party member,” he complains. I half expect a complaint on my gender, too, but his eyes flash to my Ranger brooch instead, and no comments about my capabilities arise. At least there's that, then.

“Well, actually, I'm the fifteenth. Fourteenth is a burglar by the name of Bilbo Baggins,” I comment. Gandalf shoots me a look, even as Thorin seems to growl in irritation. Like, actually growl.

“I asked you for one fourteenth. I did not ask for two,” he snaps.

“Oh relax, I ain't askin' for payment or anythin'. Keep your gold, I just wanna make sure this shit gets done right,” I snap back. Gandalf speaks up, clearly trying to keep the tempers from escalating.

“Nobody knows the Misty Mountains as well as Eawine, here. She's spent the last nine years keeping the goblin population there under control. And, she is widely renowned for her skills, having earned the name of Hawksbite for her rather unique battle style.”

“We do not need unique, we need efficient,” Thorin scowls.

“Look, tart-face, ya only got a coupla options here. Y'all let me come along and keep your sorry asses alive, or ya turn me away, in which case y'ain't got a chance o' survivin' long enough to sit on that on precious throne o' yours,” I tell him. He looks me in the eyes for the first time in all of this, his own blazing with anger. Only, and he doesn't know this, I've been glared at by far worse. He's not going to phase me.

“Tart-face...?” Gandalf mutters in the background, clearly confused by the southern gal in me.

“I will not have you taking any of what belongs to my people,” Thorin snaps. I throw my hands up, exasperation written across my face and in the way my shoulders snap back. I stand up and feel no shame in using my humanly height to tower over him menacingly.

“I just said I don't want y'all's Gods-be-damned gold! And if you're worried 'bout me movin' in, then lemme tell ya, ya'd be be'er off worryin' 'bout the scaly fuck we're gonna havta evict just to get ya in the front door. I got a home, and I ain't leavin' it behind for longer'n it takes to set this abandonado por los dioses, _sorry_ _excuse_ o' a world back ta rights!” I ignore the way my shouting has now drawn the attention of the entire pub and grab my bags, sweeping past Thorin and out the door.

I go back to the stable and leave the bags just inside Forestsong's stall. She nickers at me, seeming worried, and I wonder (not for the first time) whether horses in Middle Earth are more aware than horses from Before. Moondance, too, seems to realize something's wrong. I take a moment to soothe each of them, stroking their necks and humming the song I named them for. Once they've both been reassured, I pull my bedroll from the bag it's in and climb up to the roof of the stable with it.

I'll just sleep out here, tonight.

~~~

It takes Gandalf far longer than I would have expected to find me. The sun has been up for nearly two hours before he's in the stable yard, calling up to me.

“Are you ready to come back, yet, dear foundling?” he asks. I move my arm to where he can see it and slowly, calmly raise my middle finger. He huffs in response, and a few moments later, a smoky hawk is dive bombing my face. I wave it away with the hand that isn't busy flipping him off.

“What do you want, wizard?” I grouch, “You already broke your promise and screwed Middle Earth over in the process. Maybe even all of Arda, who fuckin' knows.”

“Hmm. I am terribly sorry to say this, but you just might be wrong. Apparently you impressed our gnarled oak last night. He's agreed to have a modified contract written up for you, which specifies you're helping out of the goodness of your heart and for no charge.” I sit up straight and look down at him, eyes wide.

“Seriously?” I ask. He nods, smiling past his pipe. “Yes! I might get to save the world after all!” I scramble off my bedroll and roll it up, then slide off the roof, landing on my feet on the ground. “When are we heading to the Shire to get Mr. Baggins?”

“Not for a while, yet. Thorin is traveling to the Blue Mountains to ask the aid of his kin there, first. He estimated that he should be finished and in the Shire a fortnight from now, and we'll meet him there at that point in time,” he tells me, even as he shakes his head at my antics. I grin.

“What, am I failing to act my age again?” I sass. He scoffs.

“Unfortunately. How old are you, again?” he asks, watching me go into Forestsong's stall to put my bedroll away. I look back over my shoulder at him.

“Well, it depends on how you count it. I _could_ be twenty-five, or I _could_ be forty-two.” I turn back to the saddlebag, fastening it closed.

“And yet, you have all the energy of a boisterous four-year-old.” I flip him off again, though this time, it's more playful than hateful. He again makes a smoke hawk to dive bomb me, which I again wave away with my free hand.


	4. Chapter 4

_I never did find that damn ring, so I will probably need to make a separate trip for it after Erebor is retaken._

_Before that... I wish there were a way for me to avoid the trolls and the orc chase right after them, but I can't think of anything other than telling Thorin, “We can't camp here, there's trolls right over there.” And then, who's to say he wouldn't just decide we need to eradicate them, anyways? And even if we avoid the trolls, that probably wouldn't change the orc chase, not really._

_Besides, the orcs are the only way for me and Gandalf to trick the rest of the Company into Rivendell's back door. And we kinda need to visit Rivendell, no matter what Thorin might think._

_Going through the Misty Mountains, I'll need to convince the moody bastard to make camp in my cave instead of a random, trapped one. That, at least, should be easy. He already knows that pass is, essentially, my land, so he should trust my judgment. Assuming we get through without orcs chasing us again, I'll need to find a way to get us to Beorn's. We'll need him as an ally, I think. Gandalf might have some ideas there, since he knows the bear._

_Mirkwood is a whole other thing entirely. I don't trust myself to keep us on the path, not with the knowledge that the forest is going to mess with our minds. So, we'll need to get captured by the elves in order to get through at all. But then, how do we get away from the elves again? I'll just put a pin in that one and come back to it later. I've got time._

_So, get through Mirkwood somehow, head to Laketown to... what? Smaug only attacks them because he smells them on Bilbo, and knows they helped. Can we afford to skip Laketown, though? I mean, we need Bard in order to kill the scaly fuck. So, how to get Bard's help while attracting minimal attention to his home? That's going to have to be another pin._

_Once we're in the mountain, getting the Arkenstone away from Thorin is a priority, but I need to figure out a way to do it that won't seem like a betrayal. Maybe break it, somehow, and tell him the dragon must have done it. But can it even be broken? And besides, Thranduil (and possibly Bard) will need some sort of bargaining tool. God damn it, another pin._

I glare down at the journal. There's just too many variables, and I can't account for them all. I huff and put the journal away, pulling out a sketchbook instead. Flipping through to a blank page, I start outlining the moment I want to capture.

It's the living room of the house from Before. From the bottom of the stairs, you could see both the front door and the rest of the living room, and that's where third grade me usually waited for Dad to get home. Mom was usually on the living room couch, stretched out to relax her spine. A car wreck had injured it, and she spent the vast majority of that year on medical leave, recovering from it. The twins, who were in kindergarten, would wait on the rug in front of the couch.

The scene I'm drawing now is the moment Dad would come in the front door. Mom halfway sat up, smiling – the twins, scrambling to their feet to run over and hug him – and him, trying to get his coat, gloves, and hat off before the twins got there and knocked snow all over themselves. Sometimes he succeeded, and sometimes he didn't.

I've discovered, in the years since I started this habit, that drawing my memories is helpful both for actually remembering, and for relaxing when I'm tense. And I am definitely tense, thinking about everything I need to do in the next few months.

“What are you drawing?” a voice suddenly asks. I jump and spin in my seat, eyes wide. It's a hobbit, because of course it is. They have no reason to be that silent, I'm just going to say it. It's not fair.

The hobbit grimaces apologetically at me, but she still seems absorbed by my sketchbook. I haven't gotten enough outlined for it to visibly be anything distinctly non-Middle-Earth-y, so at least there's that. I sigh and wave at her to sit down. She does, hopping up on a chair so she can look closer.

“It's not much now, but when it's done, it'll be my family. My dad, my mom, and my two younger siblings, twins.” I gesture at each section of the page as I speak,

“You only have two siblings?” she asks, astonished. I smile, knowing full well that would seem like a small family for a typical hobbit.

“Humans tend to not have more than five kids at the maximum. My family is considered pretty average. I'm Eawine Hawksbite, by the way,” I hold my hand out to her. She smiles and shakes it.

“I'm Mirabella Brandybuck nee Took. I haven't seen you around here before. Are you from Bree?” she asks. I close the sketchbook and tuck it away, resigning myself to the social activity of hobbits.

“No, I'm not. I don't exactly know where I'm from, to be honest. I got separated from my family when I was very young, you see. I draw what I can remember of them to try and preserve those memories,” I explain. Technically, only half a lie. Her eyes go wide with sympathy.

“Oh, you poor dear! How did you make it on your own, then?” she asks, and it could be misconstrued as looking for gossip, but something tells me that's not it. She is just genuinely concerned at the thought of an orphaned human.

“Oh, I wasn't on my own, not exactly. I was adopted by a group of Rangers. They raised me, and I eventually became a Ranger myself,” I tell her. She nods, a relieved look on her face.

“Ah, found family. That can be beautiful thing.” I nod back, smiling.

“Yes, it can, and it certainly was for me.” Before she can respond, a tiny blur collides with her, nearly knocking her over.

“Oh! Hello, dear. Ms. Hawksbite, let me introduce you to my youngest child, Primula,” she says. I blink. The name Primula sounds familiar, but why?

“Mother, Drogo and his parents are in town, and he's being all weird again! I don't get it, what's his problem?” Primula rambles. Drogo...? Mirabella smiles down at the fauntling.

“Now, Prim, if I told you, it would ruin the surprise. And besides, you know how the Baggins family is. He'll tell you when he's ready, and not a moment later.” Wait, Drogo Baggins? And Primula Brandybuck? Oh!

Well. It would appear I've just told Frodo's grandmother that I'm adopted. That's, uh. I'm not actually entirely sure what that is, to be honest.

“Eawine, are you in here?” Gandalf calls. I turn and see him waiting for me at the door to the pub. I turn back to Mirabella and Primula.

“Well, it looks like I'm being called away. It was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Brandybuck, Miss Primula,” I say. Mirabella smiles and nods, while Primula seems to have only just realized I was even here, and buries her face in her mother's shoulder shyly.

I head out of the Prancing Pony with my rucksack over one shoulder. Gandalf waits for me in the street with his horse while I go and get my own horses from the stable, taking a moment to move the journal and sketchbook from the rucksack to the proper saddlebag and replace them with a few day's worth of rations.

Then, we ride out of town toward the Shire.

~~~

We leave the horses in a little stable on the edge of Hobbiton and go the rest of the way to Bag End on foot. We arrive just as Bilbo opens the door and a pile of dwarrow fall into his smial. I snort at the sight, having honestly forgotten that detail.

“Bilbo Baggins! Lovely to see you again, old friend,” Gandalf calls. Bilbo scowls, but he's not physically big enough to stop any of the dwarrow or Gandalf from entering. I stop outside and look at him, deciding to be the polite member of the party.

“I'm terribly sorry about all of them. My name is Eawine Hawksbite, how do you do?” He seems to relax a bit at the return to basic etiquette.

“I'm Bilbo Baggins, though I imagine you already knew that. The rest of them seemed to. Would you like to come in?” he asks. I smile gently.

“Yes please, if it wouldn't be too much hassle.” He huffs.

“Nonsense, you seem like a much more reasonable guest than your associates. No offense, of course, only...” he trails off. I shake my head as I duck through the doorway, still smiling.

“It's alright. I understand perfectly. If I'm being honest, the only one I've actually met is Gandalf, and I sincerely apologize for him dropping all of this on you. I suspect he told them you were expecting us, and he certainly told me the same, although it seems that was rather... untrue,” I explain. Technically, he told me no such thing, but it would seem weird from Bilbo's viewpoint if I'd been told differently than the rest of the Company. “I suspect the others would be rather better behaved if they realized, but, well. Dwarrow can be a bit unobservant when it comes to certain social cues, so they likely haven't noticed what I have about you.” He scowls when I say it.

“That... does make rather a lot of sense. Thank you, for taking the time to explain it. I will do my best to direct my ire towards him, and him alone,” he grumbles. I wink and give him a conspiring smile.

“I highly recommend enforcing a ban from smoking inside your home. It would be perfectly reasonable and within your rights, and it would force him outside in order to use his pipe,” I suggest, “Besides which, I believe he's the only one here who would smoke indoors, so it would only truly affect him. The rest of us all go outside for it, anyways.” Not that I smoke at all, but minor detail. Bilbo grins at the suggestion.

“Yes, I believe I shall do that, then. Thank you. Now, then, you can leave your weapons and boots here, if you don't mind,” he gestures to the side of the door, where he dumped the others' weapons. I set mine to the side of the pile, a bit, but still in the general area, and leave my boots there as well. Then, he leads me into the dining room, where he tries to make the announcement, but everyone is being too loud to hear. So, I put my fingers to my mouth and whistle. It's the whistle I use to draw goblins away from travelers, and as such, it is very loud. The chaos dies down instantly, and I turn to Bilbo and gesture for him to go ahead.

“Thank you,” he tells me, before stepping forward and addressing the gathered dwarrow and wizard, “There are a few house rules, here. As none of you deemed fit to pause long enough to hear them before, I will tell them now.” The dwarrow look suitably chastised at that. Good, they can learn.

“Of course, laddie. Our apologies,” Balin says. Bilbo nods in acknowledgment.

“First house rule: any guests of the house must either announce their plans to arrive before they do, or have a reasonable excuse for not doing so. A rule which every single one of you has already broken.” Ouch, pulling no punches. Good man. Of course, I've already apologized, so I stay silent for this next bit.

Several of the dwarrow protest, claiming they were expected, but Balin and Dwalin both look directly at Gandalf. The rest of the fall silent when they notice. Gandalf, meanwhile, shifts uncomfortably.

“You led us to believe you'd told the lad, and obtained his permission. Was this not true?” Balin demands. The old wizard pulls out his pipe to avoid answering, and I step forward even as Bilbo speaks again.

“Second rule: if you wish to smoke, you will not do so inside my home. You will go outside for that,” he says, as I pull the pipe out of Gandalf's hand before he can light it.

“This will be waiting for you on the shelf by the front door,” I tell him, and give Bilbo a nod as I walk out to put it there. When I return, Balin is in the middle of apologizing to Bilbo on behalf of all the dwarrow.

“If we had known, we of course would not have simply appeared on your doorstep like that,” he finishes.

“Well, thank you for apologizing, and I do accept it in light of your own ignorance about all of this. Now, the third, and final, rule is simply this: do not make a mess of my home. If you do make a mess, have the common courtesy to clean it up yourself,” Bilbo finishes. I smile.

“Seems reasonable enough to me,” Dwalin comments, and few others nod. And with that, we all proceed in a far more civilized manner. A few of the dwarrow help to cook a more true meal, promising to go tomorrow and purchase supplies to replace what we use. Bilbo accepts that with a gracious nod.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short chapter because before I continue from this point, I need a second opinion, and as stated in the series notes, I do not have a beta. See the end note for more explanation.

After we eat, the dwarrow start up a very familiar beat. I grin as they start singing, and when Bilbo starts to really object, I lean over and whisper.

“Dwarrow have incredible hand-eye coordination. Just wait,” I tell him. He gives me a powerful side-eye, but relents. Good, one member of the Company trusts me. Well, soon-to-be member, at least.

In the end, when Bilbo sees the neatly stacked, clean dishes on the table, he just gives me a Look. He starts to say something, but before he can, three solid knocks on the front door echo through the smial.

“Ah, he's here,” Balin comments.

“Who?” Bilbo asks, frowning at the old dwarf.

“Thorin Oakenshield. He's the leader of our merry little band,” I answer, stepping into the front hall. Bilbo follows, then moves ahead to open the door. Thorin is already scowling, which is _definitely_ a good sign. Yeah, nothing wrong with a grouch, it's all good!

“Gandalf. You said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way three times, and would not have found it if not for the mark on the door,” he scolds. I grimace at the reminder of the mark.

“Mark? There's no mark, I just painted it last-” Bilbo starts to object, but I slide in and steer him away from the door with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He doesn't even seem to notice, which does speak well for my hobbit-wrangling skills, I suppose. Now, just to test my dwarf-wrangling skills.

“Oakenshield,” I greet, nodding. He nods back.

“Hawksbite.” He steps in, looking everything over with a critical eye. “This is to be our burglar? He looks more like a grocer to me,” he jokes.

“Excuse me? Why, I never-” the hobbit starts, but I interrupt.

“I would highly recommend at least pretending to have manners for our _host_ for the night,” I scold, glaring at Thorin, “As it does not bode well for a king to have no sense of etiquette.” I hear a distinct choking sound from one of the others, but I don't look away from Thorin. He glares back for a moment, before silently turning and sweeping into the dining room.

I squeeze Bilbo's shoulder before letting go and gesturing for him to go ahead. He does, still frowning as he sits down at the table. I sit next to him, watching each of the dwarrow as they join us. Assessing them, really, and their reactions to my interference.

Balin nods at me, smiling. Dwalin also nods, but he has a bit more grim expression. I nod back to both of them.

Fíli and Kíli both look to be in shock, which I can understand. They were probably not expecting their uncle to back down from the flimsy looking human girl.

Óin is frowning, but it seems more thoughtful than upset, I think. Glóin keeps glancing out into the entry hall, at the spot where my boots and sword are. Interesting.

Bifur is muttering under his breath in Khuzdul to Bombur, and Bofur is leaning close so he can hear, too. I can't quite see any of their faces with the way they're all turned.

Dori is staring determinedly at the table, actively avoiding eye contact with anyone. I suspect he's the one who choked a moment ago. Ori is staring at Fíli, and he seems... worried? I may have to keep an eye on that.

Perhaps the most interesting one is Nori. When I look at him, he's already looking at me, and it almost seems like he's searching for something. I don't know whether he finds what he expects, but after a moment, he raises his flask in a toast.

The next few minutes, I'll admit, I pretty much tune out. I come back to attention at the _thud_ of poor Bilbo hitting the floor. I sigh and get up, walking over before the others can and hefting him up over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Can one of you make some chamomile tea? I think I saw some in the cabinet by the sink, earlier. Bring it to the study when it's ready,” I say. Then, I walk down the hall, nudging the door of the study open with my knee.

Depositing Bilbo into the armchair there, I take off my rucksack and pull out an as of yet empty journal. I start numbering the top corners of the pages as I go. On page three, I write out “Thorin” and underline it. Page five is labeled “Fíli,” page seven becomes “Kíli,” and so on and so forth. After each of the Company has a page dedicated to them, including Bilbo and Gandalf, I add a “Horses” page. Flipping back to the beginning, I write out “Observations” on the first page, and fill in page two with the table of contents.

Once it's all set up, I go through and start writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the thing: I can't decide whether to have the Observations journal be written in bits and pieces in this work, or to have a sort of "Book 1.5" dedicated to it. If I do the 1.5 thing, it would be one chapter per page, and I would just go in and edit each time I need to, with my little divider marks (the ~~~ things) in between what's written in each chapter here. That's what I personally would prefer, but I get that that could get confusing for the readers, so! Let me know.  
> The Observations journal would be the only one where this applies. General diary entries and planning notes I'll include here in Book 1 the same way I did in Chapter 4.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the night goes... about as well as expected. Bilbo refuses to sign, the dwarrow sing – and oh, my god, the movie did not do that justice – everyone beds down, making do with couches and blankets on the floor.

The next morning, we're up before the sun, at the insistence of His Grumpiness. I quietly remind Balin of the promise to refill Bilbo's pantry, but nobody will be setting up in the farmer's market until far later than the dwarrow are comfortable with leaving. A compromise is set to leave a bag of gold coins and a note explaining the situation.

I'll just take Bilbo shopping for travel supplies in Bree with that gold when he shows up. Speaking of which, we've barely left Hobbiton when he does.

“Wait! Wait!” he calls out, and we all come to a halt, turning in our saddles to see him. “I've signed it, I, I signed,” he trails off, out of breath, as he hands the contract to Balin, who looks it over briefly.

“Yes, indeed, you have. Everything seems to be in order. Welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Mr. Baggins,” Balin says, handing the contract back. Bilbo folds it up and tucks it into the pocket of his waistcoat. Thorin glowers, before looking to his nephews.

“Get him a pony,” he orders. The two ignore Bilbo's stammers of protest, riding up beside him and scooping him up onto old Myrtle. There's a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face as he lifts the reins, but she completely ignores the idiot on her back. I steer Moondance over, Forestsong close behind.

As I do, Nori calls out.

“All right lads, pay up!” Grumbling ensues, but soon bags of coins are flying. I catch my winnings with a smirk and a wink at Bilbo.

I'm a bit too high up to really talk to him from here without making us both uncomfortable, so I put him on my left and unhook my feet from the stirrups. I drop Moondance's reins, trusting her to know what to do. I swing my right leg over and hook it into the left stirrup, then let my weight shift until I'm crouching down in the air beside Moondance, the only things holding me in place being the one foot and my right hand on the saddle horn. This puts my head level with his.

“So, here's the plan,” I say, ignoring his bewildered look, “When we stop for the night I'll help you get on Myrtle's good side – that's your pony's name, by the way, Myrtle – and as we ride tomorrow I'll teach you how to ride properly, and -” I don't get to finish my sentence.

“What on Arda are you doing?” he squeaks. I tilt my head questioningly.

“What do you mean?” I ask, making sure to keep my face a mask of innocence.

“I was just about to ask that myself, Mr. Boggins. What are you doing, Ms. Hawksbite?” Fíli adds. Bilbo mutters something about his name being Baggins, not Boggins, idiot dwarf. I grin.

“What? I may not have grown up in Rohan, but I'm a Rohirrim and my sort-of sister is a Rohirrim, on top of the fact we're both Rangers. I know my way around a horse, little Durin,” I explain. He scowls.

“I am not little! I'm older than you by a few decades, at least,” he protests. I snort and shrug the shoulder that's not holding me up.

“Well, yeah, but you dwarrow live longer than humans, anyways. Let's put it this way – assuming you die of natural causes, what's the average lifespan of a dwarf?” I ask, lifting myself a little higher to be more level with him. He is a bit taller than Bilbo, after all.

“About two and a half centuries,” Balin answers, although I can't see him from my low perch.

“Thank you. Let's see, average human lifespan is about eighty, again assuming natural cause of death, so - okay, yeah, my equivalent age in dwarf years is about seventy five. So, Fíli, how old are _you_ , again?” I ask. His jaw drops and he blinks at me.

“How – how did you do that so quickly?” Ori asks, though like with Balin, I can't see him from here. I don't break eye contact with Fíli as I answer.

“What, math? It's easy. Well, _little Durin_? Are you going to answer?” He does not, instead turning forward and riding further up the line, to the chuckles of several of the dwarrow.

“He's sixty-two,” Ori answers for him. I look up at the sky as I do the math.

“So, _just_ shy of twenty, in human years,” I say.

“That sounds about right, from what I know of humans,” Balin comments. And, since the conversation is expanding to include more than two people, I lift myself back up.

“What would I be, in human years?” Ori asks, drawing me out of my thoughts, “I'm fifty-nine.” I snort.

“You'd be nearly nineteen.”

“And Kíli? He's fifty-three,” Ori presses.

“Hey! Leave me out of this!” Kíli objects, but I just snort and answer anyways.

“Almost seventeen.” Bilbo tugs on my pant leg to get my attention, which is giving me strong reminders of tiny little cousin Max from Before. Which is just too fucking adorable, I cannot deal with this. I look down, and oh _fuck_ , why is he giving me those puppy dog eyes? What have I done to deserve this?

“What about hobbit years? Our average lifespan is about a hundred, and I'm forty-eight,” he says. Oh, phew, he's just wide-eyed because he's curious. Crisis averted, everyone. I hum in thought as I do a quick series of calculations.

“In human years, you'd be about thirty-eight, as a dwarf you'd be a hundred twenty. In hobbit years, Fíli's almost twenty-five, Ori's about twenty-three, and Kíli's twenty-one.” Then, Gandalf butts in.

“And, dear foundling, how old would you be in dwarf years if you took into account your... I believe you call it your Before?” I stiffen as that raises a bit of a ruckus from the dwarrow.

“What is he talking about, Ranger?” Thorin demands, turned around in his saddle to glare at me. I ignore him and direct my own glare at Gandalf.

“Ya jus' decided ta tell 'em, without botherin' to consult me on the matter? Where'd'ya get off thinkin' that's _your_ decision ta make, huh?” I demand. He just looks serenely back at me.

“Why, I merely thought it would be best if you were honest with them,” he says. Thorin fully turns his pony around and draws his sword, as the entire Company comes to a complete halt.

“Tell us what he is talking about. Now.” And now he's ordering me. Great. Thanks, Gandalf.

And the problem is, now I have to tell them. Either that, or lose every ounce of trust they have in me. Even Bilbo is edging Myrtle away from Moondance.

“Fuck you, Gandalf. Rest o' ya, this ain't my first life. One second I'm in the middle'f'a buildin' that's crashin' down 'round me cos o' an earthquake, next I'm bein' born in the middle o' the road. So there. Now ya know. I'll see y'all in Bree.” As I finish, I detach Forestsong's lead and hand it to a dumbfounded Kili, then turn Moondance toward the trees on the edge of the road and snap the reins. She starts at a walk, but a few more snaps of the reins escalate it to a trot, then to a gallop.

Soon, the Company is far behind us, as we both just enjoy the sensation of _moving_.

~~~

I do meet back up with them in Bree. I do take Bilbo shopping for travel supplies (including a new handkerchief). He remains silent the whole time, and I barely look at him, for fear of his expression.

I do not get a room in the Prancing Pony. I camp out on top of the stable again, instead.

When we set out the next morning, the whole Company is avoiding me, but at least there's no talk of rescinding my contract.

~~~

They're still awkward around me right up until the night we make camp at the burnt farmhouse. I'm fully expecting them to continue their policy of ignoring me, but it seems like a decision has been reached when I wasn't looking.

I leave both Moondance and Forestsong fully saddled as we settle down, knowing what's coming. I also put them inside the ruined house instead of with the other ponies. There's enough grass growing inside that they can graze a bit. I smile at them and sit myself on top of some rubble, humming their song.

“Whatcha humming?” a voice suddenly asks. I shriek and leap to my feet, hand on the hilt of my sword as I spin around to see – Nori. Casually leaning against the wall and grinning at me. I frown at him, but sit back down.

“Pendejo. I'm humming a song from Before. Still curious?” I stare at my horses as I say it, not wanting to know what look he has on his face.

“Yes, actually. Does it have any words?” he presses. I blink and look back at him. He moves to sit next to me, looking at the horses.

“Yeah. Do you... do you want to hear it?” I ask. He nods, still smirking. I mentally shrug, but get up to go to get my little drum from Forestsong's saddlebags. Now I'm glad that Declan insisted I get it and learn to play it, all those years ago.

As I sit back down with it, I turn to give a little explanation.

“The song is actually supposed to have several instruments – a flute, a drum,” and here I lift mine, “a guitar, I think, and probably something else. And it does have words. I can sort of improvise the flute bits by humming, if that's alright.” He nods, so I start.

At first, I stare off into the distance, humming the flute at the beginning, then adding in the drum.

_A young man walked through the forest,_

_With a quiver and hunting bow._

_He heard a young girl singing,_

_And followed the sound below._

_There he found the maiden,_

_Who lives in the willow._

_He called to her as she listened,_

_From a ring of toadstools red._

“ _Come with me my maiden,_

_Come from thy willow bed.”  
She looked at him serenely,_

_And only shook her head._

As the refrain starts, I look at Nori out of the corner of my eye. I want to see his reaction when he makes the connection.

“ _See me now, a ray of light in the moondance._

_See me now, I cannot leave this place._

_Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest._

_Don't ask me to follow where you lead.”_

He looks directly at Moondance when I sing her line, then at Forestsong when I sing hers. Then he shoots me an appraising glance as I continue. At this point, I can see that Bilbo is hovering near the ruined wall, listening in.

_A young man walked through the forest,_

_With a flower and coat of green._

_His love had hair like fire,_

_Her eyes and emerald sheen._

_She wrapped herself in beauty,_

_So young and so serene._

_He stood there under the willow,_

_As he gave her the yellow bloom._

“ _Girl my heart you've captured,_

_Oh I would be your groom.”_

_She said wed him never,_

_Not near, nor far, nor soon._

Dori and Ori have joined Bilbo, and Ori has a particularly stricken look on his face at those last two lines.

“ _See me now, a ray of light in the moondance._

_See me now, I cannot leave this place._

_Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest._

_Don't ask me to follow where you lead.”_

Fíli and Kíli are there now, too. I make my drumming more intense as I move into the next section of the song.

_A young man walked through the forest,_

_With an ax sharp as a knife._

“ _I'll take the green-eyed fairy,_

_And she shall be my wife._

_With her I'll raise my children,_

_With her I'll live my life.”_

_The maiden wept when she heard him,_

_When he said he'd set her free._

_He took his ax and used it_

_To bring down her ancient tree._

“ _Now your willow's fallen,_

_Now you belong to me.”_

As I sing the refrain again, I pitch my voice to project all the hate I would feel if I were the willow maid, instead of sticking to the weaker, regretful tone Erutan chose.

“ _See me now, a ray of light in the moondance._

_See me now, I cannot leave this place._

_Hear me now, a strain of song in the forest._

_Don't ask me to follow where you lead.”_

I hum again to replace the flute, noticing as I do so that Fíli is looking at Ori oddly. I can't quite place the look, but it is somewhat a frown.

_She followed him out the forest,_

_And collapsed upon the earth._

_Her feet had walked but a distance,_

_From the green land of her birth._

_She faded into a flower,_

_That would bloom for one bright eve._

_He could not take from the forest,_

_What was never meant to leave._

Fili's frown deepens as I finish, and he's shifting his weight from foot to foot. He starts to say something, but then Thorin calls out.

“Fíli, Kíli! Come mind the ponies!” The two of them scramble to obey, and Nori stands up, holding his hand out to me. I raise an eyebrow, but I take it and let him pull me up. He lets go once I'm standing, but I follow him over to his brothers, anyways, making a quick pit stop to put my drum back in the saddlebag it came out of. Then I follow all three of them over to where Bombur is just getting started on a stew for tonight's dinner.

As we wait, we make small talk. They ask about me, but they carefully avoid any mention of my Before. They stick to this life – my family (I tell them about my Rangers), my job (I tell them about the pass through the Misty Mountains), and of course, that leads into my Battle Name. As I'm explaining it, Glóin speaks up.

“I knew I recognized that sword! I'm the one that council of yours commissioned to forge the thing,” he explains, “Does it have a name?” I shift my weight so I can unsheathe it without standing up, laying it across my knees.

“Yep. I named her Deafra, for the tactics that earned her. 'Death from above,' and all that,” I grin. He grins back.

“That's a good name,” he says.

“Well, a good sword _needs_ a good name, don't you think?” I reply. We lapse into a comfortable silence. After a while, I notice that Bifur is carving something. Nori must notice my glance at the toy maker, because he leans over to whisper to me.

“It's a gift for you, from what I heard.” I choke on my breath and spin my head to look at him.

“What? Are you sure?” I whisper back. His only response is to start laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a few things I need to mention about this chapter that will not get worked into the story itself in a natural way. (1) The thing Eawine does in Moondance's saddle towards the beginning is something that would not be possible without a specialized saddle. Or at least, it would be much more difficult. There are going to be more things like this that she does in the future, all based on the general concept of "trick riding." (2) I know that, canonically, the ages of the dwarrow and of Bilbo are different. This is because, if I'd done the math with canon ages, Kíli would have been the equivalent of a twelve-year-old. So I adjusted things. (3) In case you're wondering about how Eawine is so good at drawing AND singing AND math, there is a valid explanation. Math is a natural talent that she takes for granted, and genuinely does not enjoy using (partly due to the shitty education system that makes no attempt to make math anything BUT miserable). The arts, on the other hand, are something she does enjoy but has no natural talent at. She put in hard work, in both this life and the last one, to get good at drawing and singing, and a couple other things that will pop up at some point.


	7. Chapter 7

Bombur has just served the stew when Nori turns to me, a curious gleam in his eyes.

“So. How old  _ would  _ you be, in dwarf years, if you took into account your Before?” he asks. Dori starts to scold him, but honestly? It’s a fair question, so I speak over Dori’s grumbling.

“Let’s see, I died Before at seventeen, now I’m twenty-four physically. So, forty-one overall, that would be just over a hundred twenty-eight in dwarf years.” I eat a bit of my food as I finish. Nori hums thoughtfully at the answer.

Of course, that’s when Fili and Kili come running up to the group of us, shouting about Bilbo and trolls. We all follow them, and as we do, I double-check all my gear.

As the rest charge into the clearing, I hang back, staying in the shadows of the trees. I use the sounds of the battle to cover the sounds of my own movements as I make my way to the cliffside. Once there, years of experience climbing much more difficult surfaces has me to the top in no time. I get in position just as the trolls are throwing the dwarrow into bags.

I stay behind the boulder that Gandalf would be splitting in half - if not for what I’m about to do. Pulling at the coiled rope hanging from the back of my belt, I grab the metal stake on one end and stab it into the side of the boulder. Then I twist it, and listen, and… there! A familiar series of muffled clicks and scraping sounds, plus a tiny jerk of the stake, and I know that the blades on the sharp end have extended out into the rock, anchoring the rope in place.

After one quick look over the edge of the cliff to eyeball the height, the clip on the back of my belt gets clicked into place on the rope, leaving the excess length coiled. I stand up, still out of sight behind the boulder, and wrap one leg around the rope. Then, I put my fingers to my mouth and whistle.

“What was that?” one of the trolls shouts.

“Dunno. Came from over there, maybe?” another says, and heavy footsteps approach the cliff. I draw Deafra and wait until the footsteps are close enough, then dart out from behind the boulder and over the edge.

I ignore the worried shouts of the dwarrow as I dive headfirst, the wrapped leg keeping me from spinning out of control. I stab Deafra straight down into the wide, startled eye of the troll. Just as I do, the rope runs out of length and pulls taut. Then, the pseudo-bungee weave of it snaps me back up, and I land on my feet back on top of the cliff, swinging Deafra sharply to fling off the excess blood.

The troll falls, dead, and the other two charge at the cliff, bellowing in rage. Ah, trolls. So dumb. So conveniently dumb. Their recklessness allows me to repeat the down-stab-up process for both of them with no problems, aside from a truly annoying amount of blood.

Once all three are dead, I twist the stake again, and the blades retract, allowing me to pull it out and coil the rope back up.

By the time I make my way back down the cliff again, the dwarrow have freed themselves from the sacks and started exploring the trolls’ cave. I ignore them and turn to the treeline instead, whistling the first bit of The Willow Maid into the gradually dissipating darkness.

“What was that for?” Bilbo asks. I turn and smile at him.

“My girls know their song. Give it a few minutes,” I tell him, before sitting next to the still-burning fire.

Sure enough, Moondance and Forestsong come trotting out of the forest shortly thereafter. I stand to greet them, unhooking Forestsong’s lead from Moondance’s saddle and pulling them both over to the ponies. I lean in close to Forestsong’s ear, to make sure nobody else hears what I’m about to tell her.

“When the ponies bolt, try and herd them to Rivendell. If they won’t listen, though, then leave them and get yourself to safety, okay girl?” She nickers in response, and I can only hope she understood. I turn to Moondance, grinning sharply. “While she does that, you and I are going hunting.”

I end up borrowing one of Bombur’s spare shirts to wipe the troll’s blood off of Deafra and my skin, but there’s not much to be done for my clothes until I have water. And probably soap. No, scratch that, definitely going to need soap. Man, I can’t wait to get to Rivendell.

After that, it takes far longer than I’d expected for Gandalf to show up. It’s nearly noon by the time he and Radagast enter the clearing together, and I guess the delay is explained by Radagast’s presence.

The brown wizard startles when he sees me, before whipping around to glare at Gandalf.

“Why didn’t you tell me the traveler would be here?” he demands, pointing a thumb at me over his shoulder, “I would have made myself presentable!” Uh, what? Presentable? For  _ me _ ?

I don’t get a chance to ask about it, because the warg chooses that exact moment to attack. The ponies bolt, Forestsong running along with them, as the dwarrow take the warg down. Gandalf whirls to glare at Thorin.

“Who did you tell of the quest, beyond your kin?” he demands.

“No one! What is going on here?” Thorin snaps back, shifting his sword in his hand uneasily.

“You are being hunted.” Wow, Gandalf, real specific there.

“I’ll draw them off while you escape!” Radagast announces, raising the reins of his sled.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Dwalin asks, raising his axes menacingly.

“That’s Radgast the Brown, we’re being hunted by Gundabad wargs and orcs, his sled is pulled by Rhosgobel rabbits, can we get moving?” I interrupt, irritated. I still have quite a bit of blood on me from the trolls, and I know it’s about to get even worse, so I’m really not in the mood for long, drawn-out discussions right now.

“Hawksbite, what-” Thorin doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because I speak over him as I swing myself up into Moondance’s saddle.

“I’ll help Radagast and catch up with you lot later. Gandalf, you know the plains better than I do, be sure and lead these guys to safety, yeah?” I wink at him, and he smiles back.

“Of course, dear,” he responds, my knowledge of the situation seeming to calm him. I grin and snap Moondance’s reins, taking off into the trees.

The rabbits are faster than the horse, so Radagast ends up pulling ahead as we make it the edge of the forest and out onto the plains. I wait just under the trees for the hunting party to make an appearance.

When they do, chasing after Radagast’s wildly swerving sled, I urge Moondance forward to flank them. As we pull up even with the back end of the hunters, I stand up straight in the stirrups to chop an orc’s head off.

The warg he was riding trips from the sudden jerk of the orc’s death, faceplanting in the ground. I leave it for now, riding ahead towards the next orc. The next several minutes proceed in much the same way, and I manage to take out about half of the hunters before Kili’s botched shot brings attention to the Company.

Then it’s a mad race to kill the orcs before they kill the Company, but after Gandalf lures the Company into the hidden passage. At one point Moondance and I end up on top of one of the boulders, and I have to swing myself out of the saddle to get low enough to stab the next warg. I get several Looks from the dwarrow for that as Moondance leaps over the edge and I pull myself back up.

Chaos. That’s what you never hear about battles. It is utter chaos, you lose track of what’s what and who’s who, and you have to be careful not to kill your allies by mistake. Of course, it’s easier when your allies and your enemies are as different as dwarrow and orcs, but still.

By the time the elves arrive and help me finish off the hunters, I’ve completely lost track of the Company. I assume that means Gandalf succeeded, but honestly? Who knows.

I pause in the sudden lull, hunched over in my saddle and breathing heavily. Moondance isn’t in great shape either, huffing and stamping her front hoof. I sheath Deafra and pat the warhorse’s neck soothingly. I would hum the song, but I’m too out of breath to do it.

Fuck, I’m not used to extended fighting like that. Battles in the mountains are usually shorter - fewer enemies at once, and less space for them to spread out.

I glare tiredly at Elladan and Elrohir as they pull their mounts up to a halt in front of me, and they glance at each other before calling for their dad.

“Miss Hawksbite. Are you quite alright?” Lord Elrond asks as he rides over. I give him the same glare I gave his sons in response. “I will… take that as a ‘no.’ Come, let’s get you to Rivendell. Forestsong is eager to reunite with you and her sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Observations update with this chapter since Eawine wouldn't exactly have had time to write anytime here.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time we get to Rivendell, I am thoroughly done with everyone and everything. The twins keep _looking_ at me, and I am _this close_ to screaming at them. I mean, what is their problem? On top of that, I can feel everything starting to chafe from the sheer amount of orc, warg, and troll blood soaking me from head to toe.

So when the first reaction the Company has towards me riding in with the elves is a collection of glares, followed by wide eyes and terrified gulps, I’m about ready to punch. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

Lindir takes one look at me, and straight-up runs off down a hall. As he does, Gandalf steps forward, hesitantly.

“Eawine, dear -” Whatever he’s going to say, I cut him off.

“Shut it, wizard. I need a bath, food, and sleep. In that order. I decidedly do _not_ need a lecture,” I snap.

“I do believe those first three are what Lindir has gone to procure for you,” Elrond says. I don’t look at him, I just grunt to let him know I heard him.

I swing myself down off of Moondance’s back, and a horrifyingly loud, wet sound accompanied by the feel of something sliding off my shoulder and down my arm draws my attention. I blink at the _thing_ lying there on the ground. Then I turn my face to the sky, eyes closed, and take a deep breath.

“Were any o’ y’all plannin’ on tellin’ me there was fuckin’ _intestines_ on my shoulder?”

~~~

I do not emerge from the guest rooms I’ve been provided until the next morning.

When I walk into the dining room for breakfast, I’m greeted by a smirk from Nori, softer smiles from Dori and Ori, blatant amusement from Gandalf and Elrond, and a _bouncing hobbit._

“How are you so full of energy right now?” I ask, frowning at Bilbo, before turning to Nori, “Did you give him coffee?” Nori shakes his head in response, before tilting his head at Gandalf and winking.

“Gandalf gave it to me!” Bilbo says, _still bouncing_ , “He said he put extra sugar in it since it would have been far too bitter otherwise.” I turn to Gandalf, making my expression flat.

“This is punishment for something, isn’t it?” I ask. Elrond clears his throat, and it sounds suspiciously like a buried chuckle. I ignore him.

“Why, my dear, I don’t know why you would think such a thing of me!” the wizard replies, as I sit down in the empty space the brothers Ri appear to have left for me in between Ori and Nori, with Dori on Ori’s other side. I keep my face flat as I fill my plate with various fruits and a roll of bread. I don’t speak for several moments as I do so.

“Maybe because you’re a meddling old man and I’m a problem child?” I finally deadpan. Bilbo squeaks, Nori snorts, and there’s more throat clearing from Elrond.

“You’re not a problem child!” Bilbo protests - and he’s _still fucking bouncing,_ good _gods_. I look at him incredulously.

“Have you _met me?_ ” I demand, “And also, seriously, Gandalf, _what have you done to him?_ ” At least the old man has the decency to look mildly concerned about Bilbo’s current state.

“Ahem. On an entirely unrelated note, it came to my attention last night that there are still quite a few, rather significant, details about your situation, which are still hidden,” Gandalf explains. I raise an eyebrow at him.

“What, like the fact that I could bench press an orc if I wanted to?" I snort, leaning back in my seat and popping a grape into my mouth.

“Bench press…?” Dori trails off, confused. I grimace.

“Shit. Forgot that’s not a thing here. It’s a type of exercise from Before, I’ll show you later,” I tell him, shaking my head. He raises an eyebrow, but shrugs and accepts it.

“Actually, my dear, I was referring to your… ahem… foreknowledge of events concerning our journey,” Gandalf explains. I freeze because _shit shit shit he figured it out shit they’re never gonna forgive me for this one FUCK!_

“What’s he referring to, lass?” Nori asks, staring pointedly at me. I very pointedly stare straight ahead.

“I’ve got no fuckin’ clue, pumpkin,” I respond.

“Hawksbite...” he growls, trailing off. I clench my jaw and stay silent, before standing abruptly and sprinting out of the dining hall.

“Eawine!” Bilbo calls after me, but I ignore him, too focused on getting the fuck out.

Gods, how am I going to fix this? They can’t know everything I know, if they find out about the damned ring they’ll be too tempted by it. And if they find out that I know that **three of them die** \- no. They won’t. They won’t, I won’t tell them and I won’t let the fucking battle happen.

By the time I’m aware of my surroundings again, I’m in a garden I don’t recognize. There’s a tree near me, with branches set at convenient heights for me to climb. I take a running leap and grab the lowest one, pulling myself up.

Once I’m settled, I pull my knapsack off my back and hook the straps around my leg so I can pull out my planning journal and a stick of charcoal.

_Okay, change of plans. Gandalf seems intent on outing every secret I have, so I’m going to have to be careful. More careful than I already have been, that is. Ugh, I need to make myself a couple lists here._

_Things I CAN Hint At_

_-Possible Allies_

_\--Beorn_

_\--Legolas_

_\--Tauriel, if she exists_

_\--Bard_

_-The fuck-off spiders in the Mirkwood_

_-Enemies_

_\--Saruman_

_\--The douchebag “Master” of Laketown_

_\--His greasy rat-man lackey_

_\--Smaug alive and awake_

_\--Azog, if he’s alive_

_-The Arkenstone is EVIL, it is NOT TO BE TRUSTED_

_Things I CANNOT Hint At_

_-The fuck-off pseudo-hobbit and his fuck-off shiny_

_-BotFA and consequences_

_-The ancient cave with the B-dragon and specific skeletons_

I huff and glare at the page, before shaking my head and tucking the journal away again. I pull out my sketchbook in its place and flip to the half-finished drawing I started in Bree.

~~~

I lose myself, then, in the process. By the time I pull myself back to reality, I’ve finished that picture and two others - one is a rendition of a photograph from my Before parents’ wedding, and the other is a family portrait from the summer before I died. Also, the sun is setting and I am the kind of hungry that would have Before Dad making a snarky “Takes a special kind o’ stupid t’forget t’eat” comment.

I sigh and tuck the charcoal behind my ear. Then, I swing my knapsack back over my shoulders and hop down from the tree, sketchbook tucked under my arm. I look around the garden, stumped.

“Where the fuck am I?” I mutter under my breath. A snort somewhere behind me startles me into spinning around and down into a defensive position.

“Jumpy, kid?” Roald asks, chuckling. I groan and stand up straight again.

“Damn it, uncle, don’t scare me like that!” I whine. He comes closer and pulls me into a hug, which I gladly reciprocate. I turn my head to rest my chin on his chest, looking straight up at his face. “I haven’t seen you in forever, old man.”

“Not since you finally flew from the nest,” he specifies, one hand tapping away on my back. I shake my head as I pull away.

“Nine years, and you’re still exactly the same. What are you doing in Rivendell, anyways?” I ask, walking alongside him as he (presumably) heads back towards the main halls. His hand has transitioned from tapping my back to tapping his thigh as he walks.

“Bah, the Council decided it was time for me to retire. Since I’ve helped the locals with the orcs so much, they invited me to retire here,” he explains, looking absolutely disgusted with the idea of retirement.

“Well, you are pretty old. You’ve probably been getting a bit slow,” I tease. He scowls and slaps me upside the head. Which, okay, yeah, I deserved that.

“My body may be slowing down, but my brain is still plenty fast,” he grumbles.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, uncle,” I sass, giggling. I then dodge another slap. “Too slow!”

“Get back here!” Roald growls, and I take off _sprinting_. I can smell food now, so I must be near the dining hall again. Or the kitchen. Either way, there’ll be someone who can point me toward the Company, I’m sure.

Unless I round a corner and smack face-first into a dwarf’s chest, that is. You know, cut some time off my search. Both myself and my unfortunate victim bounce backward, and we both fall on our butts. He picks himself back up quickly, though.

“Oh, hey Dwalin,” I say, shifting to sit cross-legged and leaning back, bracing my palms on the ground behind me.

“Eawine,” he nods, frowning a bit. Then, Nori pops out from behind him with a scowl. Shit.

“Hawksbite. Care to explain what Gandalf meant at breakfast, now?” he prompts. I sigh, slumping over a bit.

“When the rest of the Company is assembled,” I respond. Roald catching up saves me from having to say any more.

“Eawine, you little shit!” He grabs the back of my tunic and hauls me up to my feet. I could fight it easily, but eh.

“Hey, Uncle. Any possibility you could forget that happened?” I ask, then make eye contact with Nori and mouth “help me” at him. He smirks and shakes his head.

“Uncle?” Dwalin grunts, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. I leap on the opportunity it affords me. One distraction via introductions, coming right up!

“Right! Dwalin, Nori, this is my Uncle Roald. He’s one of the Rangers who adopted me when I was a kid. Roald, this is Dwalin and Nori. They’re part of a Company I’m traveling with at the moment. Let’s head to the dining hall so you can meet the rest!” And with that, I twist myself out of his grasp and follow the smell of food, brushing past the two dwarrow and thoroughly ignoring the amused sounds of all three men behind me.

~~~

“So. I honestly don’t know where to start.” I look down at the table and grimace, shifting my grip on my fork.

“The beginning might work,” Dori suggests gently. I can’t help it - I snort.

“ _Which one_? Tolkien? Jackson? Hell, if you’re going to understand Jackson, you have to understand technology. If you’re going to understand Tolkien, you have to understand World War I, and to understand World War I, you have to understand the world, and just how big it was, and how quickly it could go to shit-” I cut myself off, taking a deep breath and shoveling a bite of salad into my mouth.

“How much of that is relevant to our immediate journey?” Balin asks. I finish chewing and sigh.

“Honestly? Not a lot. But like I said, there’s background information you have to have in order to understand the stuff that _is_ relevant,” I explain.

“So, start with the background information. This… World War I, you said? Tell us about that first,” Thorin orders.

I nod, and in between eating, I tell them. I start with a basic overview of the world - big, far bigger than Middle Earth, with more countries than I can name. Then the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, and how the alliances in play pulled the world into widespread conflict. From there, I tell them about JRR Tolkien, the scholar who was forced to fight in a pointless war. How his passion for language and his PTSD produced a series of books that defined a whole genre.

How those books were about this world. About the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, composed of thirteen dwarrow and a hobbit, reclaimed the Lonely Mountain and slew Smaug. About Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo Baggins and Primula Baggins, nee Brandybuck (I do wink at Bilbo here), and his journey with his friends. I don’t tell them what that journey was for, and I think they recognize that they really shouldn’t know about something that far into the future because they don’t ask.

Then I get into the tangent of technology, namely: movies. More specifically, the Hobbit trilogy directed by Peter Jackson, and the differences in his portrayal of the story from the way Tolkien presented it.

By the time I finish, everyone is done eating. They all remain silent while I excuse myself to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, no Observations update for this chapter.


End file.
